


Pressure Points

by NoShipsLikePartnerships



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Massage, Minor Injuries, Pining, Pre-Canon, hermann is stubborn, just a pulled muscle, newt has magic hands, no worries it's a very mild injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 02:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17820050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoShipsLikePartnerships/pseuds/NoShipsLikePartnerships
Summary: Hermann’s no stranger to pain, and has grown accustomed to managing it on his own. He values his independence, and doesn’t like to be coddled, as if he’s still a child (and even then, it was rare). He doesn’t like to ask for help.That doesn’t mean that he never needs it.





	Pressure Points

**Author's Note:**

> So a couple of weeks ago, I managed to pull a muscle in my neck and it turned out to be way more painful than I could have imagined. It took almost a week to get back to normal, and during that time I wrote this, mostly to make myself feel better, so it's pretty self-indulgent (and then it took another week to finish/edit since I ended up getting sick, because the fun just never stops around here) it also turned out way longer than I expected, how does this keep happening.

Hermann’s not quite sure what he’s managed to do to himself, but it hurts like hell.

One minute, he had been craning his neck to get a better look at the equations he’d written out on the blackboard, and then the next, he’d heard an awful popping sound, followed swiftly by a jolt of pain on the right side of his neck. Gasping, he almost loses his balance, and has to grab on to the sides of ladder to keep from falling off. The sudden motion causes it to wobble uncertainly beneath him, but thankfully it holds, and so does he.

After his initial panic has subsided, he tentatively turns his head to the left, and winces at how stiffly he moves. Then he tries to turn to the right, and hisses loudly at the stabbing pain that shoots through his neck, his shoulders, and down his back. 

It’s only a couple of steps down the rest of the ladder, and Hermann tries, very slowly, to make it to the next rung. He inhales sharply and finds that he cannot go any further—each movement, no matter how slight, is excruciating, and it’s all he can do not to cry out. He _could_ attempt to jump down, as it isn’t really that far, and he’s done so many times before. However, he worries that he’ll be unable to do so now without causing more damage, should he happen to land the wrong way (which he believes is a high possibility, under these conditions).

Hermann tries to think about the problem rationally. In this particular equation, movement is equal to pain, and so the solution is clear: stay still. But for how long? He’s currently alone in the lab. Newt had gone... well, Hermann isn’t quite sure where, he’d tuned him out, as he’d been trying to concentrate. It could be hours before Newt returns, and it isn’t as if anyone else stops by the lab very often. 

He doesn’t know what to do.

Closing his eyes, Hermann rests his forehead against the rung above him, breathing hard, and fights to keep calm.

Which is how Newt finds him, moments later.

“Uh, Hermann? You okay there, buddy?”

Normally, Hermann would shoot back a sarcastic retort—“does it _look_ like I’m ‘okay’ to you?”—but the pain is overwhelming and he’s using all of his concentration not to move, although his body has begun to shake ever so slightly.

“Hermann?” Newt asks again. Hermann hears the sound of footsteps approaching, and opens his eyes to see Newt standing right beside the ladder, peering up at him.

“I—” Hermann begins, then isn’t sure how to continue. Now that he’s no longer alone, he feels a bit embarrassed to have found himself in such a situation. “I seem to have... pulled something, I think. I can’t get down.” 

Newt’s eyes widen in concern. “Oh, shit. Okay. Um, here, hold on.” He walks around to the back of the ladder. “It’s only another couple of steps, you’ve got this.”

“I tried,” Hermann says, desperation beginning to creep into his voice. “I _can’t_.”

There’s a pause as Newt considers this. Then: “Let go.”

“What?”

“Let go,” Newt repeats, “I’ll catch you.”

“ _Newton_ —”

“Look, we don’t exactly have a lot of options here,” he points out. “Do you want to stay up there all day?” 

“Of course not,” Hermann snaps, “but there must be some other way—”

He feels hands reach up and firmly grip his sides. “Hermann,” Newt says, his voice much softer than before, “let go. I’ve got you, okay? I’m not going to let you fall.”

Hermann purses his lips, deliberating. It’s far from ideal, but seeing as his only alternative is to remain clinging to the ladder, like a cat stuck up a tree...

He trusts him. He doesn’t really have a choice. 

“Alright.” 

Hermann takes a deep breath, counts to three, and lets go.

For a split-second, as gravity takes hold, he’s afraid that he’s made a terrible mistake, and this will only end in disaster. However, Newt is sturdy behind him, arms encircling his waist, and gets him down as promised. It’s uncomfortable, and rather awkward, but in the end they’re both still standing.

“There we go,” Newt says, sounding slightly winded. He hands Hermann his cane and steers him over to his desk chair, helping him into it. “See, what did I tell you?”

Hermann sits down heavily in the chair, glad to finally be back on solid ground. His body is still trembling from the whole ordeal, and his pulse is pounding in his ears. “Thank you, Newton.”

“So what happened?” Newt asks. “Is it your leg?”

Without thinking, Hermann makes the mistake of trying to shake his head. What follows is a hiss of pain, along with a string of curse words, in an inspired combination of English, German and Yiddish. Newt whistles, impressed.

“Neck strain it is, then.”

Hermann sighs. He did not need this today, he has _work_ to do. “I barely moved it,” he protests. He gingerly presses his fingers to his neck, as if that might ease the aching. It does not.

“Well, that’s what happens when you get old.”

“Old?” Hermann stares at him, incredulous. “I am thirty-five, and you’re almost the same age!”

Newt ignores this and walks over to the sink, grabbing a washcloth and running it under the water for a few seconds. “Right side or left side?” he asks once he returns, wet cloth in hand.

“Right,” Hermann answers. Newt places the washcloth on the indicated area, and Hermann flinches at the sudden shock of cold against his skin.

“Sorry,” Newt says, and winces sympathetically. “Cold compress now, warm compress later. It’ll help with the swelling.” He goes back to the sink, and rummages around in one of the cabinets above it, before pulling out a small bottle of pills. “And these,” he continues, shaking the bottle so that its contents rattle inside, “should help with the pain.”

“I’ll still be able to work?” Hermann asks. The last thing he needs at the moment is to be knocked out by painkillers.

“Don’t worry, they’re not that strong.” Newt walks back to Hermann’s side and hands over a couple of the pills, along with a glass of water, both of which Hermann accepts gratefully. “Do you want me to take you to the med bay? Or I could get someone to come here and check you out instead.”

This time, Hermann remembers not to shake his head. In all honesty, he would like nothing more than to retire back to his room and spend the remainder of the day lying in bed, but he has obligations, a responsibility to the world. After all, the looming apocalypse will not take a day off, so how can he? He’ll work through the pain—he’s done it before. “No, it’s fine,” he insists. He raises the pills to his mouth, swallows, then very carefully tips his head back to sip at the water, one hand on the cold compress to keep it in place. 

Newt watches, arms crossed, and expression skeptical. “Okay, but if you change your mind, lemme know,” he says. “Cause that’s gonna be sore for a few days.”

Hermann has to turn the entire chair to look at him. “ _Days_?” While this certainly isn’t his first time pulling a muscle, it’s never taken more than a few hours, a day at most, to heal. 

“Yup,” Newt shrugs. “Getting old’s no joke, man.”

“Your bedside manner is atrocious,” Hermann bites out, glaring up at him.

“And you’re a terrible patient.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” Hermann asks irritably. “Just sit here all day?”

“No, you should definitely still move around, at least a little,” Newt tells him. “It’ll be worse if you don’t. But try not to overdo it, okay? Also, I know that ‘suffering in silence’ is kind of your thing, but seriously, if you need anything, _tell me_.”

Hermann’s no stranger to pain, and has grown accustomed to managing it on his own. He values his independence, and doesn’t like to be coddled, as if he’s still a child (and even then, it was rare). He doesn’t like to ask for help.

That doesn’t mean that he never needs it.

“If you insist,” he relents.

“Trust me,” Newt says, winking, “I’m a doctor.”

Hermann rolls his eyes, but follows the advice to the best of his ability. Going back up the ladder today is out of the question, so he focuses on what he can get done at his desk, making sure to get up and walk around every so often. It’s gradual, but he does start to feel the pain lessen as the day goes on. He doesn’t believe he’ll make it to the mess hall for lunch, though, but Newt is kind enough to bring something back for him, and they eat at their respective desks in companionable silence.

By late afternoon, Hermann is feeling optimistic, and thinks that perhaps Newt was wrong about how long it would take to heal. He reconsiders this, however, when he gets up to make himself some tea—any time he needs to reach for anything, it causes a twinge of discomfort, so it’s a rather slow process. 

He sets down his cup of tea, and reaches up to rub the still-sore area. His hands still carry the heat from the cup and he moans at how good it feels. Newt looks up from his work and raises his eyebrows.

“I’m guessing that now would probably be a good time for that warm compress.” He moves as if to go get it for him, but Hermann beats him to it. He can do it _himself_ , thank you. Newt shrugs and sits back down, but Hermann can feel his eyes on him. He doesn’t know whether to be touched by this, or annoyed, and settles for somewhere in between.

After running a washcloth under hot water, he sits back down at his desk and places it on his neck, sighing in relief at its warmth. This is much better. Unfortunately, the washcloth doesn’t retain said warmth for very long and, before he knows it, it’s cold and damp and dripping against his shirt collar. Making a face, he plucks the cloth off his neck, and tosses it onto the desk. So much for that.

Hermann debates whether or not it’s worth going back to warm it up again, or to possibly make some more tea. They will both only provide a temporary relief, and he doesn’t really have the patience to continue doing either one. A hot shower, on the other hand, will probably work wonders.

He doubts that he’s going to get much more done at this point, and decides to call it a day—he’s thrown in the towel, both literally and figuratively.

“Time to clock out?” Newt asks, as Hermann rises from his desk.

“Yes, I think so,” he answers. “I thought I might go and have a shower.”

“That would probably help,” Newt agrees, nodding. “Although... if you want to stick around for a bit longer, I’ve got an idea.”

This is often a dangerous statement, coming from Newt.

However, if it’s something that might alleviate the pain, then Hermann is willing to hear him out. “What sort of idea?” he asks cautiously.

“Massages can be good for muscle strain,” Newt explains. “Uh, you know, if you’re okay with that sort of thing.”

Hermann is slightly taken aback by this. Massages are rather... personal, aren’t they? He’s never had one outside of physiotherapy, or self-massages when his leg acts up. But he knows that it will involve a lot of touching. More specifically, a lot of touching from _Newt_. It isn’t that he minds when Newt touches him. In fact, Newt is the only person whom Hermann does not mind touching him. Those touches are usually brief, though—a clap on the back, a hand on the shoulder. Hermann is not sure if he can handle more than that, though not for the reasons that Newt probably thinks. “And _you_ will be the one giving it?” he finally asks. It comes out snippier than he’d intended.

“What?” Newt asks, looking a bit hurt. “You don’t think I can? I’ll have you know that I give _great_ massages. I will massage your _face_ off.”

“I would rather it not come to that,” Hermann answers dryly.

“Come on,” Newt insists, “what have you got to lose?”

Hermann hesitates a moment longer before finally accepting the offer. It _does_ sound nice. He supposes that it could hardly makes things worse, at any rate. “Alright, fine.”

Newt instructs Hermann to sit on the couch, specifically along the length of it, with his legs stretched out before him. After peeling off his gloves and washing up, Newt grabs a bottle of hand lotion off his desk and perches himself on the armrest behind Hermann, sitting so that his legs are on either side of him. “Okay,” Newt says, applying the lotion to his hands, “yeah, this should be good.” He pokes a finger at Hermann’s back. “It’ll probably be better without, like, three layers of clothing, though.”

Hermann frowns. “Is that really necessary?”

“That depends, do you really want this to work?”

He grudgingly agrees, and allows Newt to help him out of his jacket. The sweater is a little trickier, and they go one sleeve at a time, so as not to aggravate the injury, before Newt carefully tugs it off him.

“Shirt too.”

Sighing, Hermann unbuttons it, until he’s down to his undershirt. This particular layer is non-negotiable—he already feels far more vulnerable than usual (especially here, especially with him), and must draw the line somewhere.

“Full disclosure,” Newt says, “I am not a professional. I did once date a massage therapist, though. Our time together was brief, but memorable,” he adds, wistfully. “I learned a lot that week.” 

This almost spoils the mood—perhaps it’s childish, but Hermann doesn’t particularly care to hear about Newt’s past relationships, and he feels a pang of jealousy at the mention of this anonymous ex-lover. 

Then Newt places his hands on either side of Hermann’s neck, and begins slowly massaging it. Newt’s hands are warm—Newt is always warm—and Hermann practically melts beneath them.

It is definitely not like any massage he’s had before. In physiotherapy, as kind as they were, those people were merely doing their jobs. There had been a sense of detachment. This feels much more intimate. It feels _safe_. He closes his eyes and, for the first time that day, perhaps the first time in a long time, allows himself to relax.

“Does that feel okay so far?”

“Mmhm,” Hermann murmurs.

Newt gently kneads the base of Hermann’s neck, then the sides, then his shoulders, applying just the right amount of pressure at each point. The right side is still stiff, although considerably less so since that morning, and Newt works at it with an incredibly delicate touch.

“You’re really tense,” Newt observes, and Hermann huffs out a laugh.

“Yes, I wonder why that could be?” he says. “I’m sure it couldn’t _possibly_ have anything to do with the current state of the world.” That ticking clock, the constant pressure they’re under to beat it, would cause anyone to become tense. Well, anyone except for Newt, apparently.

“That’s no excuse,” Newt says. “You need to take better care of yourself, dude.”

Hermann regrets that he’s unable to turn and give him a withering glare in response. He’s never met an adult who was less adept at caring for themselves—Newt certainly doesn’t get the amount of sleep that he should, and sustains himself mostly on junk food, coffee, and energy drinks. Hermann constantly has to force him to take naps, and eat proper meals, and remind him to take his medication. He doesn’t know how Newt ever functioned on his own. 

Considering that Newt’s volunteered to give him a massage, though, Hermann lets the subject drop (for now). Newt alternates between using the palms of his hands and his knuckles for a while, rubbing them up and down Hermann’s neck and shoulders in circular motions. “How’s that?” 

“It’s lovely,” he sighs happily. Newt really is quite good at this.

“Here, move down a bit.” Newt nudges him forward, and Hermann shifts so that there’s enough room for both of them to sit on the couch. Newt’s hands travel down Hermann’s back, caressing either side of his spine through the thin fabric of his undershirt, then up again, along the nape of his neck, and further up into his hair and scalp. Hermann shivers, and Newt pauses, hands lingering. “Cold?” he asks quietly.

“Not at all,” Hermann replies, “quite the opposite.”

Newt’s hands resume their movement. Hermann finds that even the sound of it is soothing, the contact of skin against skin. The sensation is wonderful, and he doesn’t know how he’s gone without it for so long. He could fall asleep like this, he thinks, though that would likely undo whatever good the massage has done thus far.

“Hey, do you mind if I, uh, try something else?” Newt asks. “If you don’t like it, just tell me, okay?”

Hermann nods his consent. He expects Newt to increase the pressure, or perhaps the intensity of the massage. Then he feels Newt’s lips against his neck. For a moment, Hermann thinks that he must have actually fallen asleep, that this _must_ be a dream, and then he feels it again, on his shoulder this time. His eyes fly open with a start. “Oh—”

Newt stops and draws back immediately. “Sorry,” he says quickly. “That was stupid. I—”

“No,” Hermann says, and reaches out to place a hand on one of Newt’s legs, giving it a light squeeze. “It’s.. it’s fine. It’s more than fine, actually.”

“Yeah?” Newt asks, and Hermann nods once more. “Okay. Okay, great. _Awesome_.” He kisses the side of Hermann’s neck again, slow and warm and _wanting_ , then continues to his shoulder. Newt’s fingers ghost the edge of Hermann’s undershirt, a silent question, and Hermann nods a third time. Very carefully, Newt lifts the shirt up and over Hermann’s arms and head, tossing it aside with the other discarded layers, and moves down, leaving a trail of kisses along Hermann’s spine. Once he’s gone as far as he can with the two of them sitting so closely—Hermann’s grip on Newt’s leg tightens—he follows the same path back up to the other side.

The couch cushions dip slightly as Newt moves closer, until Hermann is pressed up against his chest—Hermann can feel the beating of Newt’s heart at his back, an echo of his own. Newt wraps his arms around him and Hermann searches for Newt’s hands, linking their fingers together, holding on tightly all the while. As Newt leans forward to kiss his earlobe, his cheek, Hermann raises one of Newt’s hands to his lips, and kisses his palm—there isn’t much he can do in his current condition, but Hermann can offer him this small gesture in return, at least.

Finally (too soon) Newt pulls away with a small, breathless laugh. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time. Well, okay, maybe not, like, _that_ specifically, but...” he laughs again, a little nervously. “You know what I’m trying to say, right?”

Hermann clears his throat. “Yes, I believe so.” He repositions himself on the couch, so that they’re facing each other. Newt’s cheeks are flushed and he’s grinning, and Hermann feels the corners of his own mouth turn up to match him. “So have I.” He has wanted this so much and for so long, never daring to believe that it would ever truly happen, and only allowing himself to indulge in the occasional fleeting fantasy. 

Newt leans forward, then, placing his hands on either side of Hermann’s face, and presses their lips together.

It is very, _very_ real.

Eventually Newt breaks the kiss, and reaches over to lightly run his fingers along the right side of Hermann’s neck. “Does it still hurt?”

“Not as much,” Hermann says, “but I’m afraid that I won’t be able to do much else, for now.” He hopes that he isn’t disappointing him, but Newt looks extremely pleased at the implication that there will be more later.

“That’s okay. How about I grab us some dinner while you shower, and then,” he shrugs nonchalantly, “we can see where things go from there?”

“That would be wonderful. Perhaps you can teach me some of those... _techniques,_ and I can return the favor?” Hermann suggests coyly. “I am quite a fast learner.”

“And I happen to be an excellent teacher,” Newt informs him. “We’ll have to practice a lot, though. It’s very complex stuff.”

“Indeed we will,” Hermann agrees, inching closer. “But practice does make perfect, after all.”

“Nerd.” Newt laughs fondly as he goes in for another kiss, and to Hermann, it feels like heaven.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I was a bit nervous about posting this one, since I haven't really written anything like it before? Specifically the massage and all that follows. I am not a professional either, but I watched a lot of ASMR massage videos for inspiration. I apologize to any actual professionals for whatever I might have gotten wrong.
> 
> PSA: If you do strain your neck, an ice pack will probably work better as a cold compress, but I felt like if Newt tried that, Hermann might just throw it back in his face lol so he knows not to even bother. Also, I will be the same age as these guys very soon, so yeah getting older is definitely no joke, friends. Please take care of yourselves.
> 
> As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated :) You can also find me on tumblr @chalkstardust (formerly @thewintersoufflegirl)


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